


melting snow

by skuls



Series: X Files Rewatch Series [32]
Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: In the wake of the events of I Want To Believe, Scully reflects.





	melting snow

Scully didn't know where they'd taken Mulder, after she finished sewing up the woman's neck. She came out of the shed with the paramedics, wheeling the stretcher towards the ambulance, and Mulder was gone. Skinner was standing alone in his long black coat, watching the flashing lights solemnly.

Her stomach fell out from underneath her, her heart faltering, and she ran to Skinner's side in horror. As soon as he saw her face, he said hurriedly, “Mulder's fine. They took him on to the hospital.”

Scully gasped a little in relief, her eyes shutting. It had been so long since she'd done this that she could barely even remember how. “I would've gone with him,” she said quietly. She  _ wanted  _ to go with him, to hold his hand in hers and tether them together in a way. Make sure he knew she was there. That she hadn't left.

“You weren't finished, and I needed to get him out of the cold.” Skinner spoke awkwardly, as if he'd forgotten how to do this, too. Six years was a long time. He put a hand on her shoulder in that same awkward way. “I'll drive you,” he said.

Scully nodded, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ear. She just wanted to know that he was all right. She had a million things to say to him and she didn't know how to say any of them. The fear that had flooded through her when she saw her crushed car and no Mulder, the blood on his cellphone, had been incredible. The past week had strained their relationship so hard it threatened to break, and it all happened so fast that she felt horribly dizzy. She tromped through the snow next to Skinner and climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

Skinner kept talking as they drove, offering reassurances and discussing the case. Scully didn't hear. The snow from her shoes was melting dirtily on the floor mat. She watched the trees flit by until they reached the hospital, thinking of Mulder limp over the stump, his face bloodied. Thinking of what she’d do if she had lost him. This wasn’t supposed to happen to them anymore. 

\---

She'd done it because she was scared. All of it—talking Mulder into taking the Monica Bannan case, trying to talk him into walking away from it, every single decision she'd made for Christian. Telling Mulder she wouldn't be coming home. It all happened in a broad stroke of fear and insecurity that seemed to go by so fast she couldn't believe it. 

The truth was she had been afraid for a long time. Working with children every day, hurt children who all managed to remind her of her own lost children, leaving Mulder all alone with his thoughts miles away from everyone. But the difference seemed to be that she  _ could  _ save these children, even if she couldn't save her own. But then there was Christian, who she couldn’t save. Who she was determined to not let die. They wanted her to just sit back and wait, and she couldn't do that. She couldn't. 

Mulder thought it was because of William. Maybe that was why she accused him of looking for Samantha in Monica Bannan, because she could see herself doing the same and she didn't want to be alone in this fruitless pursuit of people they'd lost. She  _ was _ alone, at the hospital, and she felt it every day, was always eager to get home even if it ranged from sweet and comfortable to awkward and quiet, or even occasionally resentful. But she didn't know how to do anything else. 

Ghosts crowded around at every side. Samantha and Melissa and Emily, the Gunmen. All the people they both blamed themselves for—now Dakota Whitney and Monica Bannan, surely heavy on Mulder's conscious. William, even though he wasn't dead; the baby she remembered, sweet-faced and adorable, or the child he'd have grown into. (Six, Jesus, he'd be almost seven now, and she'd approach his birthday with the same quiet, underlying guilt and longing she always had. He haunted her and Mulder both.) And now Christian’s illness and this case, it all brought everything back. The things she had been running from all these years, William and the X-Files and the memories of all the people they couldn't save.

She didn't know why she'd told Mulder that she wasn't coming home. She'd decided in the split second of Mulder saying that he needed her on this, and she still didn't know why. She was scared, too scared of what would happen if they got involved, what would happen to Mulder and the life they had built. She was scared that she wouldn't be able to save another child, another one lost on her watch. She'd sworn she'd never leave him—she had sworn she'd never want to. But still, she had said it and felt the pit of her stomach thunk. He left the room and she didn't stop him. She didn't know what to do.

After Dakota Whitney had died, Mulder was still insisting he could still save the second victim, and Scully saw it again, the determination she'd seen so many times over the years. She'd tried to close the gap, at least a little, said, “Mulder, you think I don't understand, but I do. This stubbornness of yours, it’s why I fell in love with you.”

“It's like you said,” he'd said in response, in a resigned sort of voice. “It's why we can't be together.” And then he'd walked away, and Scully was left to wonder how the hell everything went so wrong. 

She'd told herself she'd never leave him. She'd told _ him  _ that she'd never leave him. And she didn't want to. But she didn't know what else to do. She was scared. She was such a fucking coward. And because she'd left him alone, he'd gone off and almost gotten himself killed. A ditch that wasn't a ditch because he had asked her to come with him and she had said no.

He'd come back, briefly, after he'd said that they couldn't be together. He'd been hurt, his shoulders hunched up protectively, and said in a soft voice, “You think this is about Samantha, but it's not. Everyone gave up on you, Scully, when you were gone. The way they're giving up on the second victim. And I may not have been the one to save you, but I got you back. I didn't give up. So I won't give up on the victim, because I know there's someone out there who cares about her and wants her to come home.” And then he turned around and walked away again. She should've stopped him, then, but she didn't.

The meaningfulness of Mulder saying  _ wants her to come home _ was not lost on Scully. 

\---

She didn't wait around long at the hospital—it wasn't her hospital, so she had to go through several admitting nurses, insist that she was his emergency contact and they lived together (sometimes she hated that she couldn't just say she was his wife), but she finally found Mulder's room. He was asleep in the little bed, blankets tucked around him, his face black-blue with bruises and his hair hanging in his face. He needed a haircut. There was no chair, so Scully sat on the edge of the bed and touched the side of his face with light fingers. He was still a little cold, but he was real and alive. Scully smiled just a little, sadness tingeing the edges. 

Mulder made a small sound in the back of his throat and nuzzled into her hand. “Hey,” he whispered in a raspy voice. 

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, smiling a little wider. (He hadn't even opened his eyes.)

Mulder smiled a little, too, and she was suddenly relieved to see that he wasn't furious at her. That he didn't hate her. “Magic,” he said, eyes still closed, and wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning into her. “C’mere.” 

She would've argued if she hadn't already done this a dozen times back in the day. She lifted up the blankets (several, to help to warm him up) and curled into his side. “I'm sorry,” she whispered to the top of his head as soon as they were settled, and felt tears well up in her eyes. 

Mulder hummed low in his throat and rested his chin on her collarbone. “I'm glad you didn't come with me,” he said, and Scully felt a brief pang of terror and sadness before he clarified, “I don't want you to, uh… lose your head or anything. I like it. I like  _ you _ .”

“Very funny,” she said dryly, sniffling a little. He was playing with her hair absently, in a half-sleepy, half-drunk manner. “I like you, too. But let's not forget that if I'd been there, we would've had  _ guns _ .”

“Oh, that's important,” he mumbled. 

She wiped her eyes, resting her cheek against his head. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “Mulder…”

“I know.” He groggily put a finger across her lips. “Shh.”

She shushed. Pressed her nose into his hair and listened to the far-off and familiar sounds of a hospital.

The bed felt as unfamiliar as every hospital had felt over the years, but after four years of sleeping in the same bed, it was even worse. She missed their bed, the huge comforter and the warm spots that seemed to fit their bodies perfectly. She missed the peaceful nights they spent curled up on the couch, the spot on the porch where if you lay at an angle, you could see the stars. She missed their home. She missed the feeling of peacefulness and assuredness that living with Mulder gave her. (And she missed their son. She would always miss their son.)

She couldn't leave him. She couldn't. 

\---

_ Don't give up, _ Mulder had said, in the words of Father Joe. She'd thought Father Joe was talking about Christian, but Mulder could've been talking about any number of things. Don't give up on William. Don't give up on us. Don't give up on Christian. Don't give up on yourself. 

She didn't give up. She went ahead with the operation at Christian's parents’ direction. Maybe she was only doing it because of the son she might not be able to save (who she'd likely never see again), but she felt like it was the right thing to do. 

She wouldn't give up, she told herself. She couldn't. Not on them, not on herself, not on Christian. Or William, out there, somewhere, growing up without any idea of who she was. She was stronger than that.

As soon as the operation was over, she drove home with her hands steady on the wheel and let Mulder wrap his arms around her in the threshold. “I bought some plane tickets,” he said into her hair, and she chuffed out a brief laugh against his chest.

She tugged him closer with her arms around his waist. “Let's get out of here,” she whispered, and he kissed her head, murmured that he loved her in a voice that made her want to cry.

They went inside together, holding hands like newlyweds. The door squeaked shut behind them. 


End file.
